Moments
by WickedGraceful
Summary: Conversations and moments between Lavellen and Solas - the idea has been bubbling in my brain for a few days, the idea that an Dalish Elf becomes a symbol of hope to a largely human religion and maybe becomes an atheist in the process. Who better to have those conversations with than Solas?
1. A moment in the sun

With the apostates and rogue Templars chased out of the lands around the Crossroads and the rifts closed, the small Inquisition camp on the river near the farmlands was becoming her favorite place to rest – their work in the area was making a real difference and being able to see people living their lives, tending their fields and animals, gave her hope in a way that little else had recently.

Not to mention that the nearby river was a perfect place to wash off after a long day of sweating in the hills while hunting down bandits and mercenaries.

She relaxed in the sun, laying out on one of the many rocks that overlooked the river, feeling clean and refreshed. She could hear grumbling from the camp, Iron Bull and Solas picking at each other again, but this time arguing over whose turn it was to drag her out of the river and remind her they needed to return to Haven. She didn't move, content and thoughtful – so much had happened lately, that to just sit still in the sun was a relief she wasn't ready to surrender.

Quiet footsteps approached, crunching gravel underfoot – Solas had lost the argument this time. He was never sure how to approach her, they had exchanged heated words about the Dalish and yet she was also curious, asking questions about spirits, the Fade, his own life. She knew she made him uncomfortable.

'Solas.' She nodded at him as he approached, pushing damp hair out of her face. 'Time to go?'

'Nearly.' He stooped next to her and sat down on the warm rock. 'It's pleasant here, I can see why you linger.'

'Yes, it's peaceful. Not much else is these days. Gives me a chance to clear my mind and think.' She leaned forward and started to pull her socks and boots back on.

'What do you think about?' She often stared out into the wilds, her face blank but her eyes running, as if seeing things no one else did. He know she did not see spirits and that she was no mage, so he could only assume it was thoughts that sent her eyes skittering.

'Huh,' she snorted, giving her boot a tug, 'Don't laugh.'

'I wouldn't.'

She looked up at him, as if daring him to mock her, 'Well, I've been thinking a lot about the gods and religion.'

His brow furrowed, 'Curious, why?'

She sighed, 'Well, I know or at least, I knew who I was a few weeks ago – I was Dalish woman sent to spy on a shemlen Conclave and to carry word back to my people of decisions and actions taken as a result. And somehow, in the mess of that, I've become the Herald of Andraste, a figure of hope for a human religion I don't even believe in. And what have I done? I've gone along with it, played the part…..' She paused, pulling buckles tight on her boot, 'And I don't know why.' She pulled on her other boot. 'And it makes me wonder….' She looked up at him, her brow furrowed, green eyes grave. 'All those 'gods'. What are they? I know what people say about me, most of it isn't true, but they see what they want to see through the eyes of faith. They choose to believe that I am the Herald of Andraste, whatever that means, that I have the blessing of the Maker, that I rose from the dead, that I will seal the Breach in the sky and bring about new order to Thedas – me! A Dalish elf! I know the rumors that spin in Haven.' Her voice rose slightly, cracking and her hands shook on her boots. 'Few of them are true. And if they can be so wrong about me, about a person who they look at and touch and speak with every day, who still lives and breathes and walks among them…..How much have we gotten wrong in our own stories about gods and people who walked so long ago that all we have are stories and half-truths whispered from Keeper to Keeper over the centuries. Is any of it true?' She bit her lip and looked away, staring out over the flowing water.

He said nothing, what could he say after all. After a long moment, he held out his hand to her and she took it, surprised as he pulled her to her feet. He squeezed her hand gently and surprised, she met his eyes and saw sorrow and wonder in them, but he said nothing.

She sighed, 'Never mind. Just forget it. We need to get moving.'

'No.' He said firmly. 'I won't forget it.' He held her hand a moment longer, then nodded and released her, turning away and walking back to camp.


	2. A moment in Haven

It had taken Lana the better part of a day to convince Herritt to let her have a small corner of bench space in his smithy. He had given her a dubious look at first when she had asked to be given something to do, but after running her through a few basic leatherworking jobs, repairing armor and rebinding sword grips, he had grunted in a satisfied manner and gestured her towards a pile of work in the corner, mostly repairs.

It was far from the most interesting way to spend the afternoon, but it was better than tapping her toes in the chantry waiting for the Templars to arrive. After a morning spent wandering the village, she had quickly run out of anything remotely constructive to do and decided that she might was well lend a hand where she had a bit of skill.

Her mother and father had been highly skilled leatherworkers in their clan, and while Lana had never practiced enough to become a true master, she was more than competent for the basic repairs needed here. What she really wanted to do was a bit of decoration on her own armor, but Herritt wouldn't let her anywhere near the leather tooling equipment on his workbench until she had proved she knew her way around. Frustrating, but expected. Her own parents had carefully guarded the tools of their trade, even from her.

She wasn't even sure what to put on her armor, so perhaps it was for the best. Her old hunting leathers had been dedicated to Andruil, as was her vallaslin, but she wasn't exactly a hunter anymore. None of the symbolism of the gods spoke to her the way it had before. So much had changed and she had so many questions.

She shook her head to clear it, steadied her hands and began to cut the laces that held a torn piece of leather in place on a shoulder guard – no, not torn – slashed was more accurate. She laid the old piece together on a new piece of hide and carefully marked around it with chalk and then marked out the new lace holes using the awl. She was aware of Herritt's eyes on her periodically and she was determined to show that shem smith that her skill was equal to the task. She cut the piece and began to punch the holes, working the awl slowly through the hide.

She glanced up at the smith again, but quickly pulled her eyes down to her work. Solas was standing on the edge of smithy, staff in hand, chatting with Herritt and one of his assistants. Her heart hammered suddenly and she felt her face flush with more than the heat from the nearby forge. 'Focus.' She muttered to herself. 'Focus.' She drew a deep breath and continued her work, but her mind skittered sideways. _He called me graceful. And meant it too. You could hear it in his voice. _

'You have some skill.' His voice cut across the noise behind her and she jumped, jabbing her thumb on the awl. Solas stood behind her, small smile on his face that turned to concern as she swore and shook her hand to clear the pain. He caught her hand in his, 'My apologies, Herald, I did not mean to interrupt.' He turned her hand up and looked over her thumb, 'Not cut? No.' He released her and stepped back. She was almost sure she saw a faint flush on his cheeks. _Probably matches my own. _She forced what she hoped was a casual smile.

'No, thank you. Just sore.' She shook her hand again, feel awkward. 'And you don't have to call me _Herald._' It was bad enough when the humans did it, but when another elf called her _The Herald of Andraste_, it made her skin crawl. _What does it even mean?_

He smiled slightly again and held his staff out before him, 'Herritt says you are working for him today and might rebind my staff grip? The binding has worn thin and I was hoping for something sturdier before we venture out again?

'Of course.' She took the staff from him, and gave it a quick look. 'That shouldn't be a problem to fix.' She sighed a little sarcastically. 'I'm honored that the Great Herritt thinks my skills are up to the task.'

Solas cocked his head at her curiously, 'According to him, you're one of the most skilled assistants he's had in quite a while.'

She stared at him and then glanced over his shoulder at Herritt, who grinned and waggled his finger at her and his gruff voice cut across the smithy.

'Don't be distracting my help, elf, she's got a fair pile of work to get through. If you want any of her smiles, you'll have to come back after we close up for the day.'

She bit back a grin and saw Solas jump and a very distinct blush begin to spread from the tips of his ears down his face. He bowed slightly to her and turned, almost fleeing the smithy as Herritt laughed and winked at her. She knew she was blushing too, but turned back to her work with a lighter heart. She put Solas' staff next to her stack of work, she would rebind it next and return it to him that evening – something to look forward to.


End file.
